


two steps away from death

by Eya_Silvers



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Burlesque, F/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, this is my personal shame, this is the result of a promise I made to a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 17:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eya_Silvers/pseuds/Eya_Silvers
Summary: A smirk appears on her lips as her gaze trails over his entire body. She enlaces the back of his neck with her small hand, plays with the little hair. "Why don't we put this adrenaline to a use?"





	two steps away from death

**Author's Note:**

> Made this under the advice of Maïa because we both got inspired by my own bed that broke quite tragically last night. I got no beta reader on this one, I'm too ashamed to have one. Please don't judge me. I love stydia.  
> Also this /might/ just be a rewrite of the first chapter of Rainflower by maggsam and writergirl8 because I'm bitter and I want my children to be happy and in love at the same time.

Silence in the car.

Stiles doesn't even bother turning on the radio; he can only listen to the engine of his Jeep roaring and the rain slapping the hood and the windshield, leaving tears on the glass swept away by the wind. He breathes out, vapor flowing out of his mouth, clenches his fists around the steering wheel. He's used his right one to punch this wendigo in the face, and the knuckles are bright red, the skin tingles uncomfortably but God it was worth it.

Anything just to see this look on Lydia's face as the wendigo had fallen to the ground, too surprised to even fight back. He thinks about the smile stretching the corner of her lips upwards and he thinks about her cherry red mouth opening to scream at the revenge-seeking wendigo coming for him. He thinks about Scott and the others, instantly dropping the small talk to retort with violent diplomacy. He thinks about the weight of the bat in his hands and the pressure of Lydia's back pressed against his, and words of courage tickling his ear before the three monsters launched into attack, and a dark veil over his eyes as his bat met a stomach and a face, as her voice repelled one and her vicious leg throw slammed into another. He thinks about Lydia just looking at him afterwards, eyes as big as the full moon, and him opening his arms wide just so she can press herself against him and breathe him in.

It's cold and it's raining outside but there's a fire inside him that has learned to grow without fuel.

He abruptly stops the car, kills the engine and drops on the driveway, never minding the rain and his clothes already soaked before throwing himself forwards, up the steps of the front porch. He raises a fist, knocks twice, doesn't have to hit for a third because the door is already flying open and she's there, so open and waiting and looking up at him with absolutely no other emotion on her face than complete and utter amazement, like she's seeing him for the first time all over again. He watches her too for what seems to be hours, taking in her wet hair cascading to her chest, his own jersey wrapped around her shoulders.

He sees her and knows, and that's what's shocking to him, that she will stay by his side no matter what. That she won't ever let him go even if the whole world points at him, stick a label up his forehead with the single word 'MURDERER'.

He would kill for her.

Lydia jumps; he messily throws his arms around her back and kicks the door with his foot to slam it closed - she's already having her palms pressed against each side of his face, her mouth feverishly pressed against his like it's their first time all over again, and it's a perfect mess, an utter trainwreck, he gets tingles wherever she touches him. And he thinks he's going to explode, heady with her perfume and her hands already coming to tug at his shirt, shaking as they throw it above his head without a care in the world. His jersey falls off her shoulders and she steps on it, as she found the original smell now in her arms.

"I was so fucking scared." she moans against his neck, giving tiny bites from time to time as he squeezes her asscheeks. "I think I still am-"

"Me too." She looks up to his eyes, brown pupils blown, lips redder than ever and pouty, panting. "I'm terrified."

A smirk appears on her lips as her gaze trails over his entire body. She enlaces the back of his neck with her small hand, plays with the little hair. "Why don't we put this adrenaline to a use?"

He nods, eyes glassy, and she wraps tiny fingers around his pinky to lead him upstairs, and suddenly he's hit by how empty he's felt as soon as she's stopped kissing him.

During the time it takes them to reach the top floor, he wonders who he'd be without her.

The answer is obvious.

He'd be dead.

His bat meets a skull and a cry of pain is torn from the wendigo's throat, its mouth glistening from the blood sipping between its fangs. He winces, disgusted by the sickening sound, before Malia throws herself at the thing and knocks it out cold with a single but powerful punch to the temple. He nods at her, thankful, and she flashes him a confidant smile before running away to help get Hayden out of the grip of another wendigo.

Stiles spins around, searching for Scott, who is jumping on a tree's trunk and using the momentum to throw his leg in a torso, ejecting the monster a few feet away on its back. He sighs with relief as his best friend stays in control of the situation. Ducks instantaneously to avoid getting sucker punched and flies his bat around, missing the wendigo by only a few inches. He knows why he's being targeted, himself most than the rest of the pack. He's an easy victim. Skinny, powerless, painfully human. But he started the fight.

Swifter than Stiles had planned, the wendigo catches the bat as Stiles takes a swing at it, snatched the weapon away from his grip. Stiles looks down at his empty hands, cold breath freezing in his throat, before raising them up in front of his face.

The first hit sends a shrill of pain in his arm, the second is shot through his shoulder. He cries out, drops to the ground, wriggles around to escape the wendigo's punches, prepares himself for an inescapable bite to mark him as dead meat -

A scream.

His ears still ring as he gets up, confounded, messily pushing the wendigo's body away with his feet. He stumbles a bit, trying to find his bearings, gaze crazed before his eyes land on Lydia's petite figure. She's slowly lowering her arms and staring at the wendigo's split apart head with a mixture of shock and amazement. Then she looks up at him, swallows hard, and suddenly she's never looked more beautiful.

Red hair and flashing eyes, pouty lips that crash against his as soon as he's closed the door of her bedroom.

Her fingers trail over his bare chest and he laughs into her mouth as he remembers the shirt and the jersey they've left downstairs and thinks about the face of her mom when she'll stumble upon those coming home.

"We almost died." he says, looking down at her in absolute reverence as she agonizingly slowly slides down to her knees.

Lydia unbuckles his belt and throws it in a corner, tucks his pants down. "And we still went on living." she whispers, briefly locking her hazed gaze with his before taking him in her mouth.

He hits the back of his head against the door, a moan escaping his mouth. His fingers clench Lydia's hair as she works him up and down, drenching him with her saliva, the tip of his dick hitting the back of her throat for a second before she pulls out and ever so slowly, takes him in again, toying with him, or maybe simply appreciating the fact that he's here, alive and breathing and hard for her and only her.

"God, Lydia, I love you so much-" he pants, her head bobbing up and down. "So much - fuck. Oh god. Oh my-"

She stops for a second and smiles at him, and he doesn't know why but a whimper is pulled from her throat, and he realizes that he's crying.

He loves her so much so much _so fucking much_

Her lips are red and open and he can't get enough of her anymore; he drops to his knees and cups her face between his palms, kisses her feverishly, tasting himself and the raging adrenaline in their veins.

They half-crawl half-stumble to the bed, and he pulls off the rest of his clothes, just now realizing that Lydia is still fully dressed. She presses again her lips to his lips, thirsty for more, and he helps her trembling fingers with pulling her crop top over her head and her shorts down her legs.

He shouldn't stop at the sight of her in her undergarments because he sees her naked almost daily for fuck's sake, but he does. It strikes him somewhere near his heart, and he feels himself cry again, and presses his face against her chest to hide his tears. But they're not sad tears.

He's so glad. So fucking glad to be here, alive with her. So fucking glad to live in a world that has her in it, because he knows he would have preferred burning up than never see how Lydia's bee stung lips look like right after he closes his mouth around her love button.

His hand curls lovingly around her neck while hers fists his hair, pulling on it. He lets his palm trail down between her breasts, tickling the soft flesh around her navel, before bringing it back up and feeling the hardened nipples under the simple blue bra.

He feels red.

She arches up when he reaches her panties and instantly slips his fingers under it, unable to wait a second more. He's surprised by how wet she already is, but on another thought, he's always surprised by how open Lydia is to him, he's always taken aback by how much she loves him and yearns for him. He's always expected this to be one-sided and now he can't help but feel so goddamn lucky that she chose him, of all people.

He drips his fingers into her sex and Lydia jolts, begging him to enter her faster: "I need you, Stiles, please. I need more than your fingers -" He teases her entrance again, leaning forward to lick at the fabric of her panties, making her shiver against his touch and insult him for taking so long.

"Give me your fucking cock, Stiles Stilinski-" she roars, perching herself upright with her elbows and dragging his face to hers, kissing him deeply while her hand snakes down his body and grips powerfully his dick, leading him to her opening until it's pressed against her and she grinds against it, crazy with the need and the relief he won't give her.

He thrusts his mouth to hers, and he thrusts his cock inside her and she cries out, actual tears rolling down her cheeks, panting in his mouth. He rocks inside her, getting out just to look at where their bodies make one, then he starts to really pound her. Her hands are pressed against his back then his hair then his ass, and she kisses him everywhere she can, telling him to go deeper, telling him that he loves her and she loves him and promising him that they're alive right here right now and that nothing else in the world counts but the two of them living and breathing into each other.

His tears mix with hers and he laughs in her skin, his hands catch the headboard above Lydia's head and use it as support to drive himself into her.

"Come on, I want us to live, Stiles, I want us to live so bad, so bad..."

Something breaks, a loud _crack_ quiets down their fever, and they both stop moving, staring intently at each other in confusion.

"Did we just-"

Lydia drags a pillow to her face and laughs into it freely.

"Shit - I didn't mean to-" he says, face red, slowly letting go of the headboard.

"It's fine." Lydia replies, emerging from behind the pillow, cheeks pink as well and a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "It's just a couple of slats from the bed frame, it can be replaced."

"Still. Our lovemaking was _that_ strong?"

"You're such a romantic. No one says 'lovemaking' anymore."

He smirks, confidently leans forward to let a flying kiss on her upper lip. "What would you rather want me to say?"

She quirks an eyebrow up, then looks down at his groin. "Well, you're still inside me, aren't you?" She drags him to her, dodges another kiss to suck his ear lobe in her mouth. "So are you going to fuck me or what?"

It's only after a long while, after he makes her come by rubbing her clit with his forefinger and she's made him come by riding him, red hair flying with every thrust of the hips, his fingers attached to her nipples as it was always meant to be, that they lie down next to each other, breathing heavily. Hands intertwined and tethered, she lets him rest his head on her chest until he falls asleep with the knowledge that if there was a perfect way to die, it was this one.

"I'm so sorry about the bed."

Lydia rolls her eyes.


End file.
